


Moorheads Wake

by Black_Knight



Category: Sparrow Hill Road - Seanan McGuire
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Knight/pseuds/Black_Knight
Summary: It's the circle of life...and death.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Moorheads Wake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CenozoicSynapsid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CenozoicSynapsid/gifts).



_then you’re probably gonna die._

They slowly gather at the No Name Bar, near CU Boulder, after the news flashes around the campus like wildfire.

Where else would they go, but the bar that only people in the know can find?

The other professors in her department arrive first and sit at a corner table, gazing moodily into their glasses of whiskey.

Her TAs come next, ordering wine and staking out a position near the door.

Her students come last, trickling into the room in twos and threes, gradually filling up the space all along the counter of the bar. The bartender draws beer after beer for them.

The girl who trails in with the last batch of students is not of them. She’s a student, yes, but only a high school one. But she has a fake ID, and the grief on her face sells her alleged age.

She is the only truly sad one.

She orders a beer like the rest of the students, but she merely keeps it in her hand as she drifts around the room.

Listening.

“This is so weird—”

“She took off on a spur of the moment vacation—”

“No, she said it was an emergency—”

“What was she doing _there?_ ”

“Who gets hit by a car in front of a cave?” Someone has found a picture of the area on Google Maps and is showing his phone around.

No one understands. They chew over the mysterious few details they have, but the circumstances of Professor Laura Moorhead’s death remain opaque.

More rounds of drinks are ordered. People tire of this particular topic and move on.

“She never smiled,” the students say.

“She never laughed,” the TAs say.

“I remember her smiling,” the oldest professor says, the one who hasn’t been relevant in his field in twenty years. “The day she found out the name of the Phantom Prom Date.”

“I heard her laugh once,” sniffs the next oldest professor, a blue blood who somehow thinks himself a man of the people. “When she decided that she’d proved that the Phantom Prom Date and the Girl in the Diner were the same.”

The youngest professor, not yet tenured and starting to lose hope, touches her forehead. “Please don’t bring any of that up. We’ve heard enough about that ghost for a lifetime.”

The professors fall silent, and the girl continues walking through the room.

“The books,” the TAs say.

“The lectures,” the students say.

The professors are still quiet when she passes by them again.

The TAs are buzzing now. One of them has dared to say it.

“Do you think Professor Moorhead _believed_ in it?”

“She was so passionate about it.”

“I went to Harvard for my undergrad studies, and I can assure you I never heard any Harvard professor talk about ghosts like they were real.”

The students pick up the thread at the bar.

“Did she ever, like, recruit you?”

“ _Recruit_ me?”

“You know. For stuff.”

“What, sexy times? That woman never looked at anyone.”

The student who’d asked the question notices a couple glancing furtively at each other, and gradually works his way to them.

“I’m Jamie.”

“Right, you transferred in?”

“How come?”

Jamie lowers his voice. “I wanted to talk to Professor Moorhead. About what she’d asked me to do.”

He receives matching blank stares. Fake ones.

“I told her to leave the Phantom Prom Date alone. But she didn’t stop, did she?”

“That was a joke, man.”

“Professor Moorhead liked her fun,” his girlfriend adds. Somehow she manages not to blush while uttering this ridiculous statement.

“If you took that seriously, you’re so gullible.” He does go red saying this.

“If you didn’t catch anything, then you’re very lucky,” Jamie tells them. They turn in to each other, shutting him out.

The girl lurks near the professors, who have begun talking again.

“She blew her interview,” the oldest professor says. “But she was lucky. The head of the department at that time was an extremely _tolerant_ fellow.”

“He was willing to make allowances,” the next oldest professor says. “Because the Bible references Saul talking to Samuel’s spirit.”

“Or a demon posing as Samuel’s spirit,” the oldest professor corrects.

The youngest professor rolls her eyes. “Biblical demons, the Phantom Prom Date. Apples and oranges.”

“The Phantom Prom Date is clearly a reaction to the concerns about teenage students driving,” the next oldest professor says.

“As Laura wrote in her book,” the oldest professor notes. “She got better about concealing herself.”

The TAs are gossiping about what they’ve seen.

“She left her laptop open once, to this really weird site.”

“Maybe she was just doing research.”

“Did you ever go to her apartment? Did you see all those demonology books she had?”

“ _So_ many. She said she was simply a collector.”

“Riiiiiiiight.”

The girl pauses in thought, then moves on.

“Dude, her office. She had like these weird things scattered around. Little statues or something.”

Jamie butts in, eager. “Wards.”

“Wards? Like magic shit?”

“She traveled a lot,” another student says dubiously. “I think she just liked collecting souvenirs.”

“Those are some creepy-ass souvenirs.”

The students grow bored. They trickle out the door in twos and threes, in search of fun and laughter to turn their night around.

The TAs are tipsy. They decide to go to Professor Moorhead’s office to have one final drink.

The professors remain at the corner table, nursing a new set of whiskeys. They have returned to the original subject.

“She left suddenly,” the oldest professor says.

“An emergency,” the next oldest professor says.

“What did Laura ever consider an emergency?” the youngest professor asks.

“She has family. A sister. A niece,” the next oldest professor answers.

“But they’re nearby. Not in the South.” The youngest professor knows that much.

The oldest professor clears his throat. The other two lean forward. “The police said she was traveling with her niece. They flew to England.”

“England?” the next oldest professor echoes. 

“What could be an emergency in England?” the youngest professor asks.

The oldest professor smiles mysteriously. “ _It wasn't her niece._ ”

The other two stare at him.

“There’s no record of either of them returning to America. And no one has seen her traveling companion since.”

“You listened to Laura talk for too many years,” the next oldest professor says.

“You should have retired a long time ago,” the youngest professor declares. And then maybe she would have gotten tenure already.

The oldest professor finishes his drink.

“It’s not the Phantom Prom Date,” the youngest professor says.

“It’s not the Girl in the Diner,” the next oldest professor says.

“Perhaps not,” the oldest professor says. He stands up and throws a tip onto the table. “But I say it was Rose Marshall.”

He walks out. Laura never knew it, he was too sensible to let on, but she had converted him long ago.

Laura’s niece narrows her eyes. She is going to figure out what happened to her aunt, and she has the first clue now. She has a name.

_If you race with Rose, then you’re probably gonna die._

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide. I really enjoy this series, and I'm glad you gave me the opportunity to write something in its universe. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
